


a handful of bone

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Haunting, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Will frowned. When was the last time he’d slept the whole night through? The desk lamp flickered. “I feel haunted,” he said, gazing down into his hands.“Too much time in the field chasing ghosts. Too many deaths weighing heavy on your mind.”“I don’t mean it as a figure of speech.” Will sighed and closed his eyes. “When I’m alone I feel like someone’s watching me. The dogs bark at nothing in the middle of the night.”Or the au in which Will is haunted by a literal ghost in place of suffering from encephalitis. Canon divergent from early season one.





	1. omens

Will sank down into the chair opposite Hannibal. The office was dim, winter in full swing beyond the windows. The desk lamp splashed light harshly onto the floor near their feet. In the hearth a fire roared, casting the room warmly amber-gold.

“You don’t look well,” Hannibal said.

Will frowned. When was the last time he’d slept the whole night through? The desk lamp flickered. “I feel haunted,” he said, gazing down into his hands.

“Too much time in the field chasing ghosts. Too many deaths weighing heavy on your mind.”

“I don’t mean it as a figure of speech.” Will sighed and closed his eyes. “When I’m alone I feel like someone’s watching me. The dogs bark at nothing in the middle of the night.”

“Unfortunately I cannot banish your ghosts in the literal sense.”

“Just tell me I’m crazy and we can move onto more figurative things.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. Sleep deprived, perhaps. Overworking an already battered mind.”

Will stood and paced from the window to the desk, perching on the edge near the lamp. It rattled on its base as he settled. “Shapes move outside my windows, in the corner of my eye. I know I’m just imagining it, but it feels… different from the things that usually follow me home.”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs?”

“No.” Will’s mind brought home many strays left over from killers and crime scenes. That which lurked now just out of reach evaded him where others crowded to catch his eye. “He’s still there. Sometimes. But not like this.”

“Hallucinations can be a symptom of many things, both mental and physical. Do these shapes visit you in spaces other than your home?”

The light flickered again. “No,” Will said, rounding the desk to sit in Hannibal’s empty chair. “But I can feel it here with me. Like a draft pouring in from under the door.”

Hannibal crossed to the desk, gazing down at Will from the other side. “Do you have strong personal beliefs in the supernatural?”

“No. And yes. As a child I was enamored with the notion of life on other planets. As an adult, I think I just wanted somewhere to run to. What we call supernatural is just the universe expressing itself in ways science can’t yet explain.”

“I saw my sister for years after her death,” Hannibal said, running his hands along the edge of the desk. Will’s ears perked up. In the short month they had been acquainted, Hannibal had never mentioned a sister. “Roaming the grounds outside our family home, calling to me between waking and dreams.”

“What was her name?”

Hannibal’s eyes were wet when they met Will’s. “Mischa. She was very young. I cared for her after the passing of our parents.”

They stayed in silence for a moment, two haunted orphans drowned in firelight. This time when the light flickered, it rasped out the sounds of electric death. Hannibal tapped it with his finger, the bulb choking black.

Hannibal eyed the lamp, then Will. “I changed the bulb only this morning,” he said.

At Will’s back, warmth gave way to cold.

—

Hannibal sent Will home that night with a sample of sleeping pills and orders for a full night’s rest. Will laughed at this, but gave Hannibal his word he would give it a go. Will downed the pills with a swig of whiskey and crawled beneath the covers once the dogs were settled.

They’d brushed the bulb off as a coincidence, a simple fault in the manufacturing was the most logical conclusion. Hannibal switched it out and the replacement burned strong for the remainder of their session. Will kept his own bedside lamp dark, the curtains of every window drawn tight against the waxing moon.

The pills didn’t work for a long time. Will lay in bed chasing shadows on the dark ceiling and trying to clear his mind. The last case he consulted on for Jack was solved more than a week previous, yet he still couldn’t shake the blood from behind his eyes. How could he tell a real ghost from the imagined? Flickering lights and fleeting shapes could be caused by many things.

Will’s heavy eyelids finally clicked shut, trapping him in a red haze. Through it Will could not see that which lurked in corners and beyond the wall of endless dark, though he sensed it hanging there all the same. He slept hard and dreamless, waking the next morning to the chatter of his teeth, freezing through to his bones. Across the room lay his blankets, tossed or torn from him in the night.

Will wrapped himself in his robe and slippers, shivering. He made the bed and let the dogs out as the promise of coffee dripped slowly in the kitchen. He watched the dogs from the window. Winston was coming into his own, nipping Harley’s heels and not shying away from Buster when he charged. Will’s chest warmed and swelled at the sight of them, seven pieces of his heart chasing their tales outside his body.

He let the dogs inside, poured his coffee, made toast. His first thought sitting down at the table was to call Hannibal. 

“Hello, Will. Did you sleep well?”

Will put the phone on speaker and set it on the table. “The pills helped. Thank you.” Will crunched into his toast, crumbs spattering the front of his robe. 

“No visitors in the middle of the night?”

Will considered mentioning the incident with the blankets, but thought better of it. “I can’t say. I didn’t wake up, didn’t even dream. The dogs seemed okay at least.”

“For now, we’ll count this as a success.” Hannibal shifted on the other end, the sound of his own coffee being poured. “Would you like to join me for dinner this evening?”

Will’s first invitation into Hannibal’s home. His heart steadily thumped, waves cresting in his ears. “I, uh… I have class this afternoon. Granted Jack doesn’t ambush me, I’d love to.”

They said their goodbyes with promises of the evening to come. Will finished his coffee and toast. Just as he was setting his plate and mug in the sink, the dogs began to howl.

—

The pack huddled close together in the living room, snarling in the direction of the closet. Winston was practically foaming at the mouth, a far cry from the gentle, playful beast he’d shown himself to be. Will ran a hand along his back and Winston nearly took his fingers off, cowering away from Will and the rest of the pack when he realized what he’d done.

Will tried to calm them with his voice, tempting them away with the promise of treats and a walk outside. He stood there invisible to them all. Buster stood on his back legs snapping at the air. Ellie whimpered and whined, cowering in between Harley and Max. It took close to an hour for them to calm, the air crackling with the anticipation of something terrible and nameless.

When it was nearing the time Will would have to leave them, the dogs finally snapped from their trance and followed him outside, chasing sticks and tennis balls as if nothing had happened. All save for Winston, who stayed back close to Will’s side, pressing against his leg, looking up from time to time with sorrow in his eyes. 

“I know,” Will said, stroking Winston’s head softly. “I feel it, too.”

—

Will’s afternoon classes were a blur of tangled memories, blood and sodden ground. Recounting his most recent case solved for Jack carried with it the edge of impending doom. This was not the first, this would not be the last. Will’s future seemed an endless stretch of decay and death. He could taste it when he closed his eyes, cloying on his tongue.

When his final class filed out just after five, Will collapsed at his desk, his good night’s rest a fading memory. The din of students dripped away, a storm rolling into the horizon. Footfalls like hooves clacked away into silence, the room around him deflating in their wake.

Will gazed between the rows of seats toward the open door, a gentle click like bone on pavement swelling from the hall. He stood and walked toward the sound. How could he be certain he were even awake? His body slumped, legs heavy as he dragged himself forward and into the sharp swath of light beyond the threshold.

There, in the haze of yellow fluorescents, the clicking gave way to the shallow drumming of his heart. His head whipped left, right, straight forward down darkened corridors. He glanced into the nearby rooms, finding them just as empty as the halls.

A chill prickled up Will’s neck as he turned back toward the classroom, and the clicking again, though whether it were coming or going Will couldn’t say for sure. In his periphery bloomed a shadow, dark petals opening to artificial sun, though when he turned to meet them there were no shadows to be found. Coiling from the floor was something depthless and hollow, shapeless as a scream. 

Will was not one to run from fear or conflict, was an old hand at choking on it till he drowned. Knowledge sharp and pointed pierced him deep in that moment. Something terrible was going to happen. Was happening. Had already happened somewhere far beyond his grasp. Will bounded at once into the room and snatched his jacket and bag, racing back toward the door as fast as his feet would carry. Down the hall, a beeline for the nearest exit. Will freed himself out into the chilly evening air, running all the way to the parking lot. 

It wasn’t until he reached his car that he realized he was crying.

—

Will’s home and the surrounding grounds were still. Too still. The leaves didn’t rustle when the wind blew. The dogs didn’t stand to greet him, slinking quietly to their bowls for food and then out into the yard to do their business without a sound. The whole world around him frozen, breathless as he moved.

Will sat in the middle of the pack and passed his fingers through their ruffs. They curled in on themselves, noses touching tails, and one by one their eyes clicked shut as they surrendered to slumber. Winston woke when Will made to leave, watching him cautiously through the slit of one eye. Not as to say, _don’t go_. But rather, _watch your back when you step outside_.

Will sped to Baltimore with the heat cranked on high, sweating through his layers. As if the cold dread wouldn’t bite him if he could no longer feel it mouthing at his neck. He willed himself to believe he was being ridiculous by the time he stood outside Hannibal’s door. The dogs were only reacting to his own panic. His mind, as it was so wont to do, was playing lavish tricks on him.

“Hello, Will. Please come in.” Hannibal’s standard therapy greeting. The apron tied around his waist, sleeves bunched up near his elbows, quickly broke the illusion.

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Will shrugged off his coat and watched Hannibal hang it in the closet.

“You’re just in time.” Hannibal stepped closer, eyeing Will in the dim light. Will buzzed beneath his gaze. “You’re exhausted. Not such a good night’s rest after all?”

“Last night was no match for today.”

Hannibal frowned. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“There was an… incident after class today. My dogs are acting strange.”

Hannibal took Will’s arm and lead him into the house. Will was being lowered into an armchair in the kitchen before he realized they had moved. Hannibal knelt before him, forcing Will to meet his eyes.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It’s not real. What I’m feeling. I know it’s not real.”

“How can you be certain?”

Will sighed. “Because it can’t be. I’m… I’m stressed about the next case I know is coming from Jack. The dogs are picking up on it. I’m manufacturing panic.”

Hannibal’s face grew solemn. “I never believed I was imagining Mischa. In death she was as real to me as she was in life.”

“This is different.”

Hannibal wrapped Will’s hands in his own then, surging Will’s mind back into the light. Warmth poured from his fingers, seeping into Will marrow-deep. “It won’t go away by pretending it isn’t there. Real or imagined, you must face what’s happening to you.”

Will stared down at the join of their hands, their blood rushing in unison. Hannibal’s pulse rattled him. “What are you suggesting I do, Dr. Lecter?” Will’s voice came out thin and hollow.

“Accept that what is happening to you is something tangible. Something you can understand and overcome. If it’s all in your head, in time it will be clear to us both.”

Hannibal pulled his hands away and stood. Will shook with the loss of it. He watched as Hannibal turned and walked to the counter, aching in the wake of such a comfort.

—

Will helped Hannibal finish dinner, courses foreign and familiar served amidst feather and bone, scattered across the table in beautiful relief. Each course grew more delicious than the last. The warmth of the wine kept Will from shivering as dread came to him in shallow spurts.

“Do you believe in ghosts? Other than your sister I mean.”

Hannibal considered this carefully, gazing down into his wine. “I believe all things are possible. Belief is deeply tied to our experience. I have experienced things I cannot easily explain.”

“But it’s possible you did just imagine her.”

“It is. But it’s not what I choose to believe.”

In the candlelight shadows settled on Hannibal’s face, eyes shrinking into darkness. On the table peacock feathers fanned around an antlered skull. Will thought of his dogs back home, the fur of their ruffs standing on end against some unseen terror. 

Outside, the wind howled low and bright. “Belief doesn’t always hinge on evidence. And when it does, evidence can be wrong,” Will said. 

“And you have a way of finding truth in evidence better than anyone. What is your evidence telling you?”

“It’s telling me I have nothing but shadows.”

They finished their final dinner course and Hannibal served dessert, a lemon soufflé that melted like spring on Will’s tongue. They went to the living room after, Will sprawling on the sofa as Hannibal plucked a tune on his harpsichord. The melody reminded Will of weeping. He had a glass of wine on the table beside him, but couldn't fit even a single drop in his filled belly. 

Will yawned and let his eyes fall shut. The music stopped. He could feel Hannibal watching him. “I must insist you take my guest room for the evening. You’re in no shape to drive an hour in the dark.”

“I’ll be fine,” Will mumbled, weary eyes still closed. Beyond his lids, the light dimmed. Then, his shoes were being pulled off, a blanket covering him shoulder to toe. His limbs turned to lead, every part of him too heavy to protest.

The world behind his eyes swirled in a mass of shapeless color. Black gave way to crimson, brilliant as the sun. In his half-slumber there grew a murmur in his ear, gasping syllables and words which never took form. Panic came though he did not fight it, allowing dreadful dreams to pull him under.

In the moments before his conscious mind surrendered to sleep, a single word rang clear.

 _See_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is most likely going to be a bit of a slow burn, but I will try my best to do weekly updates. I promise this is going to earn its rating at some point in the future.
> 
> In the meantime, come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/)!


	2. when i reach for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They drove to Wolf Trap separately, Hannibal’s headlights two yellow eyes stalking Will through the dark. Pulling into the drive, Will’s house a white smug in a sea of black, he wondered absently if the dogs were better off without him. If they’d rested easy as he choked on nightmares at a distance.

Will’s arms fluttered like limp wings behind him. Motionless, he hung suspended by a rib curved up from his chest, bone as thin as paper. He gulped down breaths, a pale fish gasping on the shore. Deep voids formed where his lungs should be. The air, it seemed, had abandoned him.

Sharp tines tipped in velvet ticked along Will’s back, a great maw hinging open and snapping shut. Darkness coiled out of him, brilliant black slick as oil. He was consumed, choking, shadows of his own making looming and cut through with bright points of light in his periphery.

And then he was falling.

Will woke struggling for air, inflating his lungs as quickly as they were emptied. He sat up in the dark, panicked, a stranger to his surroundings. Moonlight through the window illuminated shapes silver-blue, the outline of a harpsichord coming into focus. Then, Hannibal motionless in the chair beside him, chin slumped down against his chest.

Will reached out blind and found the table lamp, clicking it on and swinging his feet down to meet the floor. He cradled his head in his upturned hands and reminded himself he was alive. Slowly, panic gave way to an uneasy calm.

“Will?”

Will looked over at Hannibal, the light from the lamp barely reaching his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“There’s no need to apologize. If you’d like, I can show you to the guest room.”

Will squinted down at his watch. Just past 3am. “I should really get home to my dogs.”

“Will you allow me to join you?”

“Are you asking because you want to? Or because you’re feeling sorry for me?”

Hannibal stood, moving himself into the light. “Please don’t mistake my concern for pity. I’d like to. And I don’t know that you should be alone right now.”

Will agreed and Hannibal excused himself upstairs to change. Will found his shoes tucked beneath the sofa and went to the foyer for his coat and stood there in the dark waiting for Hannibal. Lightly, the windows began to rattle, a swelling sound that droned like tv static. Will’s face reflected back at him in the glass. Looking past himself, the moon appeared the dome of a pale skull burning through still tree branches. Louder now, the panes buzzed like insects swarming in their frames.

A blurred figure formed behind Will’s reflection, growing tall as hoof-clicks joined the buzzing glass. Will turned his body slowly, caught between fighting and fleeing in the split second before his eyes could register Hannibal entering from the hall.

“Is everything alright?” Hannibal asked, reaching for his coat. He’d changed into a light colored sweater that stood out in the dark.

Will’s chest heaved, the only sound now filling his ears his own blood spurting hot and quick. He forced a smile through the tension in his jaw. “Great,” he said, a stutter of laughter escaping him then.

They stepped out into the early morning together, the stillness of leaves dripping from their branches like a thousand knives teetering overhead.

—

They drove to Wolf Trap separately, Hannibal’s headlights two yellow eyes stalking Will through the dark. Pulling into the drive, Will’s house a white smug in a sea of black, he wondered absently if the dogs were better off without him. If they’d rested easy as he choked on nightmares at a distance.

A fog had formed across the field and it draped over Will’s skin as he stepped from the car, a fine shroud of mist heavy enough to dampen. The dogs jumped up to inspect Hannibal when they entered the house. Winston trotted to Will and eyed Hannibal with suspicion, shying away from his offered hand with little more than a sniff.

Out back, Will lined them up in a neat little row and allowed each to pluck a treat from between his fingers, then set them off howling into the yard.

“They seem to be doing well,” Hannibal said.

“Better than when I left them.” Will sighed, watching Buster chase circles around Harley in the grass. “Maybe better because of it.”

“While I understand a great deal more about humans than dogs, it was clear from the moment I walked in that this pack would be lost without you. Their love and loyalty is certain.”

“This isn’t about love or loyalty. I feel… toxic. Even if whatever I’m experiencing isn’t just all in my head, it’s happening to me. Not them.”

The door leading into the kitchen, which had been standing open behind them, suddenly slammed itself shut with a deafening thud. The dogs came racing back from the shadows at the sound but kept their distance, tails tucked between trembling legs, sharp canines showing.

“That,” Hannibal said, gazing flitting between Will and the door, “was not in your head.”

“Could be a draft,” Will said, not believing the words as they fell from his mouth.

Hannibal lead Will inside with a hand pressed low on his back. The contact burned bright through the layers of fabric between them and when it was lost, Will had to bite back the urge to beg its return.

“I’ll make coffee,” Hannibal said. Will sat at the counter and watched him search through cabinets, mind too trapped in fog to point him in the right direction.

The dogs filed in through the open door with caution, avoiding Will and Hannibal in favor of returning to their beds in the living room. Will watched Hannibal scoop grounds into a paper filter and fill the machine with water. The coffee maker sputtered to life and Hannibal got out two mugs and set them on the counter and closed the door against the cold dripping in from the yard.

“What did you do about Mischa?” Will asked, gazing down into an empty mug.

“Mischa was quite different from your experience. I never wished her presence to leave me.”

“Do you think she was angry?” Will wanted to ask how she had died but thought better of it.

Hannibal stared flatly into the distance. Will could almost see the memories clicking behind his eyes. “In life she had been curious and kind. In death there was no anger to feed. There were no slamming doors or haunting shadows.” 

“If this is… whatever this is. It feels like anger. Directed at me.”

Hannibal poured steaming coffee into their mugs. “If you’ve brought something home with you, why would any anger be directed your way? You’ve done nothing but help where others could not.”

“I don’t know,” Will said. He drank his coffee black and scalding and reveled in the burning on his tongue. “Nothing. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe there was someone I could have saved and I did nothing.”

“Have you simply tried to ask?”

Will laughed into his mug. “Howling like one of the pack into the night? No. I haven’t.”

“Perhaps you should give it a try.”

Silence fell swiftly between them. Hannibal began making breakfast after a while, acquainting himself with Will’s kitchen in an elegant dance. They drank more black coffee and ate eggs and bacon and soon the sun was peeking up over the horizon in a shock of crimson and yellow.

“I have classes off and on all day,” Will said after they washed the dishes side-by-side at the sink. Hannibal had pressed close against Will as he dried their plates and Will brimmed with the fire of it long after.

“I have patients this afternoon. I’ll come back after if you’d like.”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

The faintest hint of a frown painted Hannibal’s face. “You’re my friend. And it is not unheard of for friends to spend time together.”

Will found it hard to imagine Hannibal choosing to spend his precious time amongst Will’s dog hair and tackle and the same shabby curtains that had been on the kitchen windows since he moved in. “Friendship is a concept almost as foreign to me as family,” he said. “I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

Hannibal smiled then, warm as the early light filtering in through the fog.

—

Will’s first class of the day was still filing into the hall when Jack Crawford lumbered in smelling of death.

“Where?” Will asked without meeting his gaze.

“Madison, West Virginia. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Will shuffled papers on his desk, tucked them into his bag, pulled them out again. “My last class is at six.”

“I’ve already called Alana. She’s more than capable of filling in.”

Will grabbed his things and followed Jack out of the room, too exhausted to argue. He’d had an overnight bag packed and ready in his car since the last time Jack called on him in the middle of the day so far from home. He grabbed it and followed Jack through the parking lot, frowning at the loss of the dinner he and Hannibal had planned for the evening, and at the thought of the vending machine meal that would replace it.

_Headed to WV with Jack, won’t be home until tomorrow. Sorry. Would you mind stopping by to feed the dogs?_ Will texted from the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV. He drummed his fingers on the center console awaiting Hannibal’s reply.

_I would be happy to tend to your pack as long as I’m needed_ , Hannibal replied. Another message bubbled beneath the first before promptly disappearing. Will stared at the screen until it went black. Minutes passed. Then, finally, _Call me this evening?_

_Of course._

Will’s smile drew Jack’s attention. “It’s good to see you smiling. What we’re doing is important. You should feel good about it.”

The Righteous Brothers crackled on the radio. _So don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t let it slip away_ , they crooned. Will pressed his forehead to the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, thoughts sloshing around his head like water in a glass. He slipped apart and back into himself in time with the melody. 

The song cutting out with a whine startled Will from his trance. Jack visibly winced at the sound, sharp and piercing and growing ever louder even after he reached for the dial and cut the radio off. They drove the remaining miles to the airport with Jack fiddling with the controls and shouting at Will over the electric screams.

“What the hell was that?” Jack turned to Will after they’d parked and the sound had died with the key being pulled from the ignition. 

Through the windshield, Will eyed the rows of empty cars nestled in the cavern of the parking garage. “I wish I knew.”

—

They made it to Madison by dinnertime. Will ate half-stale donuts from the motel vending machine and the coffee Jack pressed into his hand tasted like ashes. 

“It’s a bad one,” Jack said when they were halfway there.

“Are they ever good?” Will frowned and drank his coffee and was momentarily lost to the flash of a childhood memory. A forest fire bloomed around the trailer he’d shared with his father. They’d packed their things in a hurry and stayed at a motel and the next morning his father told him the trailer was lost. He’d watched the fire burning from the truck when they pulled away, its orange embers rising in fits toward the stars.

The scene of the crime was an elementary school playground. Trussed up on a rusted swing set was a young man no older than twenty-five, arms spread in twisted crucifixion. His heart was pierced straight through with a bar pried from the jungle gym, and his eyelids had been removed.

“School closed down two years ago. Thankfully no kids around to see it,” a man Will recognized as the Sheriff drawled. “Never seen anything like it before in my life.”

Beverly crouched with Zeller and Price near the body. Will wanted to talk to her but could manage little more than a weak smile in her direction. She glanced back at him briefly, concern in her eyes so great Will had to look away. 

“Alright, everybody out!” Jack boomed, rounding up the local police and his forensics team and pushing them to the far side of the building. Jack stayed close, lurking in the shadow of an oak tree whose great trunk bowed beneath its own weight.

Will gazed at the gruesome display for just a moment longer before letting his eyes fall shut. He breathed in, darkness taking hold. The pendulum swung and stilled in seconds, the scene before him falling away.

—

Full dark. The sky above a blanket of pin-point stars. Will leads his victim by the arm onto the playground. Do you remember this place? The site where our first memories formed.

The jungle gym bar had been pried away in earlier premeditation. It lay beneath the oak, chips of flaking paint rough against his fingers as Will takes it in hand. Go over to the swings. I want to show you something.

A gentle touch swipes stray hair away from shining eyes. A fit of nervous laughter. The jagged edge of the bar jams in with such force ribs splinter on its way to the heart. Death comes in seconds, eyes wide and without understanding.

Rope and ladder. Positioning the body is solemn prayer. Tears crash onto blacktop. Just inside his line of vision shadows move. Will slips back to himself for a moment, allowing the slick claw of dread to creep upon his neck. His hands shake. He pushes the presence back with such force he nearly breaks the reconstruction, daylight strobing into dark.

He breathes. Steadies his heart. He is back again, knife in hand, his victim’s arms spread wide in embrace of the night. The eyelids being slashed away are the final loving touch. Finally: sight.

—

Will opened his eyes with a gasp, feet unsteady below wobbling knees. He held the air in his lungs until he was certain what approached from behind was Jack.

Will pulled his glasses off and cleaned them on his shirt. Anything to keep his hands at work and eyes toward the ground. “Killer, uh,” Will swallowed thickly, trying to steady his words. “Killer knew the victim. Intimately. They’d be around the same age, met in school, possibly grew up together.”

“Why on earth would someone do this to someone they grew up with?”

“I don’t know. There was love between them. Maybe love the victim couldn’t see.”

“That why he took his eyelids? To make him see?”

“He wanted him to see something.”

Jack sighed hard. “Sleep on it. You look like you could use some rest. We’ll go over it all again back home in the morning once the rest of the team’s had a better look.”

—

Back at the motel Will stood beneath the scalding spray of a half-calcified shower head until his skin burned pink and supple. He toweled off and crawled into bed without bothering to get dressed, sheets sticking to him in all the places the towel missed. He squinted against the light of his phone and tapped the screen until it was dialing Hannibal.

“Hello, Will.”

“Dr. Lecter. I hope the dogs didn’t give you any trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’m with them now in fact.”

Will glanced at the clock. Just past 9pm. “Have they eaten?”

“Over an hour ago. I hope you don’t mind I’ve been keeping them company in your absence.” There was a shifting on the other end, a rustling against the receiver. “I was thinking of staying over. I have no patients in the morning.”

The rustling had been his pillow. Hannibal was lying in his bed. “No. It’s good someone is there with them. Thank you.”

Hannibal was silent a moment, then, “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. Something… happened during a reconstruction. I felt it there with me.”

“In the reconstruction with you?”

“Yes. It almost pulled me out.”

“Could you see it clearer? Trapped in the walls of your own mind?”

Will put the phone on speaker and turned on his side, pulling the covers up to just below his chin. “It’s not strong enough to show me anything. Or it’s just taunting me, biding its time.” 

“And when that time arrives?”

“I guess we won’t know until then.”

Will was struck suddenly with the intimacy of the moment. Lying in his motel bed with no clothes on, Hannibal on the other end sprawled on his unwashed sheets. The sound of Hannibal’s voice was a balm. 

Will closed his eyes. “I have an early flight tomorrow,” he said. “Thank you for looking after the dogs.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow. Goodnight, Dr. Lecter.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

Will rode the waves of exhaustion into slumber. There, he dreamed his eyes had been taken, and that he could finally see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely words of encouragement both here and on tumblr! Hoping to have chapter three up by the weekend.


	3. to a flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack frowned beneath a buzzing floodlight, coffee in hand. “We got another one.”
> 
> The vending machine muffin Will chewed during the drive was dry and tasteless, the coffee he washed it down with more ashen than yesterday. The sun rose in shocks of carmine and violet, and for a moment the whole world turned to blood.

Hollow drumming pulled Will up from paralyzing slumber. At first he thought it his heart, squinting against blinding dark as he tried to make sense of the clock. 6am. Through the half-drawn curtains, the first hints of dawn cut through the night.

The drumming again, now clearly a hard rapping at the door. Will didn’t have to guess who he would find on the other side as he stumbled to his feet and pulled on last night’s clothes and pushed his glasses high on the bridge of his nose.

Jack frowned beneath a buzzing floodlight, coffee in hand. “We got another one.”

The vending machine muffin Will chewed during the drive was dry and tasteless, the coffee he washed it down with more ashen than yesterday. The sun rose in shocks of carmine and violet, and for a moment the whole world turned to blood.

The Coal Heritage Museum was a clapboard box roughly the size of Will’s living room. A half dozen local police milled around the entrance, parting as Jack lumbered through with Will trailing, the fading tail of his comet. Inside, the floors glimmered like the surface of a pond. As Will stepped across the threshold, he wondered if he would fall right through.

Beverly, Zeller, and Price were gathered around a coal cart bolted to the floor, piled high with hunks of plastic coal. Blood pooled black where it dripped from the sides of the cart. The woman sprawled on top was pinned in place by a pickaxe driven straight through the middle of her chest. Before Will could angle himself to see her eyes, Beverly drew his attention.

“You don’t look so good,” she said. “Sure you’re ready for this.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Yes. And no. You’re here so I guess that’s a choice.”

Will could only force a smile, a weak and unconvincing effort that made Beverly frown.

“Have breakfast with me after?”

Will’s smile was genuine then, if only for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Jack broke away from hushed conversation with the Sheriff and appeared at Will’s side. “Museum curator's daughter,” he said. “Found her this morning when he came in.”

Will finally managed a look at her eyes, bulging from their sockets, no lids left to contain them. He had to turn away, the bitter contents of his stomach threatening to make an appearance. 

“You okay to do this?”

Will sucked in stale lungfuls of air and gazed out the window, eyes fixed on dingy red brick across the street. “I’ll be fine.”

Jack corralled everyone outside and let the door shut behind, keeping watch from the sidewalk. Strange eyes on Will burned like a dozen frenzied flames and he quickly crossed to the window and pulled down the metal shade, dimming the room and dulling the burn in an instant.

The museum took on the appearance of a cavern, or the gaping maw of some great beast swallowing Will whole. The coal cart at its center the black tongue lapping bloody at its first course, ravenous. Slats of daylight cut through the shade and set the cart ablaze, a bloodied, yellow pyre. Will pocketed his glasses and closed his eyes. The beast yawned.

—

Crouched in shadow, Will becomes one as the minutes tick away. The click-slide of lock and key, footfalls chasing out the silence. She goes down easy, taken so off guard here in her second home she has no chance of fighting.

One swift blow and her world goes dark, a hand pressed close to feel her breathing. It’s almost tender when the pickaxe slips in, counting down the seconds to when her heart seizes with one final sputter. She should not suffer, though she must see.

She will rest with eyes wide open. Will makes the final cut and steps away. Splayed in the half-light, she appears a distant, dimming star. Pinned to the dark and watching. Will breathes in and feels himself slipping away when tendrils of black fog begin forming from the coal. Thick coils reaching forward, rising with a din of murmurs Will knows are only for him.

_See. See. See._

Will goes to his knees as the heaving dark consumes him. He is choking, eyes thrashed open, lids torn away. He is numb save for the pain coursing through him like a pulse. All hope to breathe again is gone, gone…

—

“Will!” Jack’s voice cut in through the deafening rush of blood in Will’s ears.

Will threw his eyes open, reaching up to feel his lids flutter. He was on the floor, back arched like a feral beast, pulling in as much air as his lungs could take.

“What happened?”

Will’s chest stuttered with the force of his breathing. He struggled to his feet and turned his back to Jack’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

With shaking hands Will pulled out his glasses and pushed them on. “I don’t know!” Will hadn’t planned on shouting, but he needed to get away. Jack’s prying eyes felt like razors on his neck.

He couldn’t see him, but Will knew Jack was scowling. “If you can’t do this, you need to tell me right now. If this is breaking you…”

Will’s laugh tasted bitter on his tongue. “I’m not broken.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

Will turned to Jack then, but kept his eyes down. “He loved her. Didn’t want her to suffer.”

“Loves her like the last one?”

“Maybe more.”

“Why is he doing this? Revenge for their rejection?”

On the floor, the blood had begun to dry. Thick, black pools that seemed, for a moment, to move. Will sighed and closed his eyes. “This doesn’t feel like revenge. They loved him back. Maybe as much as they could with their eyes closed.”

Jack went silent, considering this for a long moment. “We need you here in case it happens again. If it does, it’s going to be soon. For now, none of us are going home. We’re setting up at the county morgue this afternoon.”

Will escaped into the chilly air of morning and pushed through the throng packing the sidewalk. Beverly eyed him as she walked back into the museum. Will walked to the side of the building and pressed his back to the clapboard, pulling out his phone.

When Hannibal answered, Will’s heart instantly settled. “Change of plans,” he said. “Won’t be coming home today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“The dogs—”

“They’ll be taken care of.”

“Thank you.”

Hannibal was silent for a beat, then, “Would you mind if I called you back later?”

“Oh… of course.”

They said their goodbyes and Will emerged from from his moment of refuge, entirely hollow.

—

By the time Will and Beverly made it to breakfast, it was nearly time for lunch. They sat in a corner booth in a tin-roof diner no bigger than a double-wide. 

“So you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?” Beverly asked as they sat waiting for their food.

Will sipped his bland coffee and stared out at the pockmarked street. “I’m just tired.”

“We’re all tired. I mean what’s really going on?”

Will gazed at his reflection in the hollow of his spoon. It distorted and twisted to black. He tossed to spoon down on the table. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Beverly laughed, but her smile faded in an instant. “You’re serious?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

The waitress arrived with their food. Pancakes for Beverly, eggs and bacon for Will. Beverly forked a bite of pancake into her mouth and wore an expression that said she was choosing her words carefully.

“I’ve never had any experiences myself, but I like to think I have an open mind. When I was a kid my sister and I got a ouija board one year for Christmas and spent every night between then and the new year pushing the little thingy around on it trying to scare each other.”

“I think it’s called a planchette.”

“Really? Anyway, just because I’ve never seen one doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” She drizzled more syrup on her pancakes, cut off one perfect triangle and shoved it into her mouth. “Have you seen one?”

“I don’t know what I’ve seen. Something’s… happening to me. I don’t think it’s just in my head.”

“Haunted house?”

“It’s not my house. It’s everywhere.”

“Even here?”

“It comes and goes. But yes, even here.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it?”

Will pushed his rubbery eggs around on the plate. “Just Dr. Lecter. He seems to think I should confront it head on. Not entirely sure what that would entail.”

Beverly smiled around another mouthful of pancake. “Maybe try a ouija board.”

Will couldn’t help but mirror her expression. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

“I’m serious. Not about the ouija board, but you should do something. Even if it’s all on your head…”

“I know.”

“Listen to your therapist. He knows what’s best for you.”

Will stared down at the food on his plate and began shoveling it into his mouth without tasting any of it. The floor beneath his feet was rattling, he was certain, but Beverly didn’t seem to notice. When they were finished they walked the short distance back to the motel together in silence, drinking in the day around them.

“I guess I’ll see you in a couple hours,” Beverly said at Will’s door. “Hopefully no more bodies before then.”

Will stripped down and drew the curtains and collapsed down into bed. He was tired but he didn’t think he could sleep again, so he lay there staring at the ceiling and waiting for the dread to come. Instead, there came a familiar snuffling at his neck. In the corner of his eye, illuminated by light seeping in through the cracks in the curtains, the feathered stag of his dreams was scenting him.

Will wondered if looking at it head on would make it slip away, as dreams are wont to do. But when he turned his head, the stag just sat and watched and waited. Will gazed into its inky eyes, reached out and grazed the tips of mangled feathers. It stared at Will in curious silence, like it wanted to tell him something very important but couldn’t find the words. 

Will grew convinced that if he just stared long enough, the beast’s secrets would be revealed. Somehow, he would know. Why is this happening? What is it? Who is it? What do they want from me? Will stared so long that his eyes began to ache, and somewhere along the way he gave himself over to sleep.

—

Will woke just past 1pm to a light rapping on the door. Definitely not Jack. He quickly glanced around the room, just to be certain the stag was gone. Then he pulled on a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before opening the door.

“Dr Lecter?”

Hannibal stepped into the room with a duffle slung over his shoulder. “I was going to book a room, but I’m afraid your team has taken every last one.”

Will stammered over words, but every one of them was lost on his tongue. He stared at Hannibal as he set his bag down and took a seat near the window.

“And please don’t worry about your dogs. Alana has agreed to look after them until you return.”

Will made a mental note to text her his thanks later. For now, he was far too busy trying to process what was happening. “Are you… here because of the case?”

“I’m here because of you,” Hannibal said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I meant what I said. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Will flushed from his ears down to his chest. He was thankful for the dim light as he took the seat across from Hannibal. “I don’t know how much longer it’s going to be.”

“I’ve cancelled my appointments for the next three days.”

Will buried his face in his hands. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Will’s gaze was lifted as Hannibal hooked two fingers beneath his chin. “I want to be here for you.”

Will swallowed around a growing lump in his throat. He chased the points of contact, leaning forward when Hannibal pulled his hand away. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here.”

Hannibal smiled. “Have you eaten?”

“Just bad diner food.”

“Allow me to make you dinner this evening?”

Will eyed Hannibal curiously. “I’m not even going to ask how you plan on doing that.”

Hannibal stood and pulled the curtains open. Light washed across them both until they glowed. “Will Jack be needing you again this afternoon?”

“I have to go to the morgue soon. After that, granted there are no more bodies, I guess I’m all yours.”

Hannibal smirked. “Wonderful.”

Will wondered for a moment where Hannibal was planning on sleeping. Then, eyes falling to his unmade bed, it occurred to him it was big enough for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes indeed, forced bed sharing is on the horizon. Oh how I love that convenient little trope. In the meantime, come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)!


	4. fog and feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight neared in shades of rosy pink bursting from the clouds, sun nestled halfway below the horizon. Will made it back to his room utterly exhausted, blood and pixels dancing behind his eyes. Inside, Hannibal was nowhere in sight, but the bed was covered in a checkered blanket and spread with a variety of sushi. On the nightstand was a sky blue carafe, and next to it two gold rimmed sake cups.

Nightmares drifted on the air like perfume, Will’s scent undying though he’d left for the morgue nearly an hour ago. Hannibal allowed himself one last deep inhale of Will’s rumpled pillow before pulling himself away. Fear sat cloying in Hannibal’s nose, melting darkly on his tongue.

Fear was a powerful thing, Hannibal knew. A force that would drive grown men to cower and plead. There were occasions though, in the hearts and minds of the truly unique, where fear acted as something of a door. Hannibal wondered if he had finally found his key.

From his bag he pulled a talking board, something he’d found entirely useless on his own, but perhaps no more. He set the board on the table by the window, watching as the sun bathed it in the warmth of it light. Empyreal. Bright. Cut though sharply with motes of dust.

—

The room they’d been given at the morgue was a windowless box crammed wall-to-wall with the equipment they’d had shipped in from Quantico. The ventilation system was decades old and the room had grown sticky with death.

“Some cultures believe that if a person dies with their eyes open, they’re looking for someone to take with them,” Beverly said. She was carefully swabbing the t-shirt of the male victim, so far coming up empty save for dried flecks of his own blood.

Jimmy Price stood eying the corpses. They lay stiffly on their slabs, paling parallel lines. “Spooky,” he said. “He is Samuel Barnes. She is Judith Kilbride. Both turned thirty this year.”

Will sat slumped in a folding chair in the corner. “Killer will be the same age. They went to school together.”

Zeller looked on with a smirk. “Grade school bully revenge?”

Will sighed, ignoring him. “We need to check school records going all the way back. I think he met Judith at the museum, maybe not until they were a bit older. See if her father can remember any boyfriends.”

“Well, whoever he is,” Price said, “he’s not leaving anything behind. Not even a partial print.”

_See._

Will stood and paced the short distance between walls. “I’m not done,” he said, distant. “Can’t risk getting caught until it’s finished.”

—

Twilight neared in shades of rosy pink bursting from the clouds, sun nestled halfway below the horizon. Will made it back to his room utterly exhausted, blood and pixels dancing behind his eyes. Inside, Hannibal was nowhere in sight, but the bed was covered in a checkered blanket and spread with a variety of sushi. On the nightstand was a sky blue carafe, and next to it two gold rimmed sake cups.

Before Will could think to call his name, Hannibal stepped out from the bathroom. “You’re just in time,” he said.

“Do I even want to ask how you managed this?”

Hannibal smiled and patted the bed. “All that matters is that I managed.”

They sat crossed legged on either side of the bed. Hannibal poured sake into the cups and handed one to Will. Will sipped and watched as Hannibal prepared two small plates with various bites of sushi.

“How many people in this city do you imagine are having a sushi and sake picnic in bed right now?”

Hannibal handed Will his plate. “I imagine we are the only ones. Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Will sighed and drained his cup, then reached for the carafe to pour another. The sake was dry and cool on his tongue. “It was there again with me at the crime scene this morning. Ever since… I don’t know. It’s like it’s not strong enough to get through.”

Hannibal took a pair of chopsticks in hand, using them to place a bite of sushi between his lips. Will watched him chew with rapt attention. He sipped a bit of sake before he spoke. “And what of the case itself?”

Will stared down at the sushi on his plate. Squares of tuna gazed up from their centers like drops of blood. “He’s killing who he loves. Or for them. Maybe in his mind it’s the same thing.” He balanced his chopsticks unsteadily between his fingers and managed to get the bite into his mouth without dropping it down the front of his shirt. The fish tasted so fresh Will wondered if it had been caught that very morning. Wondered how Hannibal could make that possible in such a place.

“Will he do it again?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s gone through too much care not to get caught yet. He wants to be seen. When he’s done, we’ll know.”

They cleaned their plates, bit by bit, and drank sake until Will’s limbs grew heavy with it. His head so light he worried it might float away. Sitting there on the bed, watching Hannibal’s hands and lips, Will felt calmer than he had in weeks. He glanced at the window, now a black box reflecting lamplight back into the room, and for the first time noticed the board set up on the table.

“Is that?”

“It is.”

Will laughed and stumbled over to it, running his fingers along the planchette. “You know these things don’t work, right?”

“In the hands of most, you are correct. Would you not agree your situation is a bit more unusual?”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Hannibal cleared the food from the bed and tucked the checkered blanket back into his duffle. “Would you like to give it a try?”

Will flopped down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know.”

Hannibal sat next to him and pressed his palm to the center of Will’s back. It glowed so warm Will wondered if he would catch fire. “Have you sensed the presence at all since the crime scene?”

“Afterward, at the diner I went to with Beverly. And when I came back here after…”

Will lifted his head and looked at Hannibal. He was so close will could feel him breathing, smell the sake on his breath. His hand was still pressed firm to Will’s back. “Tell me.”

“I saw a stag.”

“Here? In the room with you?”

“I know it sounds crazy. Maybe I am crazy. I’ve seen it before, mostly in my dreams…”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Hannibal’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and, for the first time, Will wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would he be soft and pliant, rough and grounding? Would he pull Will out of his head entirely with the warmth seeping from his tongue?

Will allowed himself to stare only a moment longer before pulling himself to his feet again. He sat down at the table and stared at the board, forcing his thoughts away from doing something as foolish as kissing his psychiatrist. “Okay,” he said, framing the planchette with his fingers. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Hannibal joined him at the table, cheeks pink and eyes shining. They watched each other for a moment before positioning their fingers on the planchette. Will looked down at his own hands, uncertain what to say.

“I feel ridiculous.”

Hannibal’s smile was a balm to Will’s unease. “Start with something simple. Ask them who they are.”

Will cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “I, uh… Whoever you are, we’re listening. Can you tell us your name?”

The room flooded with silence, save for the gentle tick of the heat clicking on, their breathing. The planchette didn’t budge beneath their fingers.

“Can you tell us your name?” Will repeated.

Outside, a car’s engine roared to life, its mechanical eyes shining orange and yellow through the window as it pulled away. Will let his hands drop down into his lap.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“We must be patient,” Hannibal said. In the dim light his eyes had grown shadow-black.

They sat there long enough for Will to repeat his question a half dozen more times with no response. After the last attempt, Will sighed and went over to the bed.

“I’m going to sleep. You’re staying here.” It wasn’t a question. Where else would he go?

Hannibal nodded and crossed to the bed, pulling a pillow off and tossing it to the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Will patted the far side of the bed. “Come on.”

They still had their clothes on from the day, but Will’s bones felt far too heavy to cross the room for pajamas. He stripped his shirt off and tossed it to the floor, and with some effort managed to get his slacks down far enough to kick them off as well. He pulled the covers up to his chin and glanced over at Hannibal. In the time it had taken Will to undress, he’d stripped down and changed into pajama bottoms.

Will’s breath caught in his chest when Hannibal joined him under the covers. His bare arms looked so strong. “Goodnight, Dr. Lecter,” he said, clicking off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Will.”

They lay there on their backs in the dark, warm and unmoving. Will thought of Samuel and Judith back at the morgue, twin corpses in a row, slowly rotting on their slabs, eyes forever open.

—

Sleep took Will’s mind quick as a door sliding shut. He dreamed of the stag, its feathers reaching out like vines to twist around his ankles, holding him in place. Its inky eyes stared unblinking, its antlers pulsing thick and black with blood.

 _Who are you?_ Will thought, the words floating from his mind, through the dark, tangling in feathers.

 _You are blind_ , the stag thought, its words piercing Will right between the eyes. _But I will make you see._

 _Yes_ , Will shouted, lips unmoving. _Help me._

 _Silly boy._ The stag smiled then. _There is no help._

Antlers thick as branches twisted themselves into a noose before his eyes, cinching around Will’s neck and pulling him up from the ground. He dangled there in the cold, endless black, the void of his prison turning to agonizing relief.

"It’s so lovely being dead", Will said. The beast said. Their voices becoming one. "Finally, you can rest".

—

Will’s eyes flew open, the frantic din of his own heart so loud he wondered if it had woken Hannibal. He tried to quiet his breathing. His fists were bunched so tightly at his sides his fingers ached. It was only a dream. You’re alive. The room was still, then Hannibal stirred beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Just a bad dream. I’m okay.”

“You smell frightened.”

Will sat up and leaned back against the headboard, chest still heaving. “You can smell fear?”

“Yes.”

Will clicked on the lamp and squinted over at Hannibal, his hair rumpled on the pillow. “Describe it to me.”

“It’s acrid, sharp. A bitter dampness on the tongue.”

Will gave a little smile. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Hannibal sat up and leaned back next to Will. “What did you dream that was so frightening?”

Before Will could get a word out, a noise drew their attention toward the window, then down to the table. In the half-light, the source of the sound was apparent. The planchette glided across the board in a smooth motion, guided by invisible hands. Will and Hannibal glanced at each other once, quickly, then jumped from the bed for a closer look.

“What’s it saying?” Will asked, fishing the glasses out of his shirt pocket on the floor.

“S,” Hannibal said, eyes wide and fixed on the board. “E… E.”

“See,” Will whispered, just as transfixed now as Hannibal.

The planchette picked up speed, racing across the board between the letters, until it was all but slamming against the surface, desperate to be heard. SEE. SEE. SEE.

“What do you want him to see?” Hannibal breathed, gripping the edge of the table.

Before Will could get a word out, he was taken to his knees, air punched from his lungs so quick he saw stars. The world before him began to spin. Then, breathing in, inky shadows filled his lungs, sight surrendered to dark.

—

Bright sun blinded, brilliant and white. Will lay sprawled on his back, suspended, sharp points throbbing from chest to abdomen. He squinted against the light, desperate now to see. He was naked in a green field, antlers springing from his chest. Ravens cawed, dancing with their black feet atop his flesh.

Feathers drifted on the air like smoke. The birds and their shrill song pierced into Will’s brain, sweeping fog away. He could not breathe, lungs ripped from his ribcage. The one who had taken them loomed in his periphery, an inky taunt refusing to take shape.

Claws sunk in where his lungs should be, beaks pecking at his skin. Wings flapped, slapping harshly at his face, and then he was moving. Floating, flying, drifting away. Up, up, up… Until the field below was nothing more than a soft blur of green flecked harshly with his blood.

—

“Will? Will!” Hannibal’s voice cut in, snapping Will back to the dim light of the motel room.

He lay curled in on himself on the carpet, shivering. His glasses were snapped in two beside him. Hannibal snatched a blanket from the bed and wrapped Will in it, pulling him into the safety of his arms, tight against his chest.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I know,” Will breathed, burying his face in the crook of Hannibal’s neck, the scent of him instantly grounding. “I know who’s haunting me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this update took nearly two weeks to happen, but real life is somewhat of a mess these days. I am going to give it my all to make sure chapter five is up by next weekend, and if you would like to cheer me on you can always find me over on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com). <3


	5. yarrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sleep,” Hannibal said, curving his hand down against Will’s neck before pulling away. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Cassie Boyle,” Will breathed into Hannibal’s neck. He pushed his hands out from the blanket to cling to the warmth of Hannibal’s back.

“The young woman on the stag head?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal gripped Will’s shoulders, made to push him away. “Would you like to get back in bed?”

“No,” Will gasped, and Hannibal let him fall back against his chest.

Will cocooned himself in the blanket, in Hannibal, pressing his body to bare flesh wherever he could find it. Hannibal rocked him gently, cradling him like a child. Will kept his eyes buried and squeezed shut, suddenly afraid of his own sight.

“Tell me what happened.”

Will shook his head. “What did I look like when it happened?”

“You went to your knees, gasping. After some time, you collapsed. You didn’t move again until you began to wake.”

“I was her.” 

“What do you mean?”

When the sound of Hannibal’s heart beating slow and even had eased Will’s panic, he pulled back and met Hannibal’s gaze. “I was there. In the field. On the stag head. I had no lungs and… he was there. The one who did it.”

In the spill of lamplight, Hannibal’s pupil’s dilated. “You saw him?”

“No. He was… a shadow. I don’t know. Maybe she never even saw his face.”

Hannibal studied Will in silence. Breath mingled between them like smoke drawn from a dying flame. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

Hannibal all but carried Will the short distance, depositing him on the mattress and tucking the covers just beneath his chin. He perched himself on the edge, brushing a hand through Will’s hair, then down to cup his cheek.

“I don’t know what to do,” Will said, a dull ache blooming behind his eyes, cracking open in his chest.

“Sleep,” Hannibal said, curving his hand down against Will’s neck before pulling away. “I’ll watch over you.”

—

Will protested sleep for as long as his eyes would stay open, which wasn’t very long. Dreams clawed their way back to claim him, and Hannibal sat near watching the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. When he pressed his palm to the space over Will’s heart, it ticked its melody in fits and starts. After some time, Hannibal crossed to where Will’s glasses lay snapped in two on the carpet and set the two halves next to the board on the table. 

The room smelled sweetly of death and anxiety. He could feel it there, vibrating from the walls like static. The door was cracking open, its rusted hinges fit to scream. Allowing Will more sight, now knowing with whom he was dealing, was a risk Hannibal knew he had no choice but to take. 

“Are you here with me?” Hannibal whispered, pressing two fingers lightly to the planchette. When it didn’t budge he began to push it around the board with mindless ease. Only after he’d done this several times over did Hannibal realize he was spelling out a name.

_M I S C H A_

The room was silent save for the gentle draw of Will’s breathing. Hannibal slumped down in a chair by the window and watched as Will’s fingers grasped at the sheets.

—

Dirt, cold and viscid, stuck between Will’s toes as he walked. The earth, it seemed, was reaching for him, clawing its way up from unfathomable depths to gnaw at his flesh. Headstones glowed white as bone in the dark. In the distance one loomed above all others, a beacon calling Will to shore.

Cassie Boyle’s name was etched in dark relief, the letters black and screaming. From the stone antlers rose, twisting like branches up toward the endless dark of the sky. Beneath Will’s feet, the ground shook, and all around headstones began to topple. The letters forming Cassie’s name slipped from their stone to be swallowed by the ground.

The soil bubbled. Hands reached up from the earth then, gray talons that dug into Will’s ankles, bringing him to his knees and pulling him under.

—

Will woke screaming, throwing the blankets from the bed and jumping to his feet before his eyes had even opened. He whipped his head around the room, frantically searching for Hannibal, but he was nowhere to be found. Through a gap in the curtains, Will spied the first hints of morning light, and the unmistakable outline of Jack Crawford’s broad form. Will didn’t have to guess who he was talking to.

He dressed quickly and, heart still hammering in his ears, threw open the door. Hannibal and Jack’s conversation ceased at once, the two of them turning to Will, concern etched all over Jack’s face.

“Is there another one?” 

“Will,” Hannibal stepped forward and curled his hand around Will’s arm, warmth shooting from his palm to Will’s bones. “I was just telling Jack about your condition.”

Will’s brows knitted together. “My… condition?”

“You’ve not been feeling yourself. I’ve recommended to Jack that it would be best for you to not return to the field.”

Will wobbled on his feet, pushing Hannibal’s hand away. “I think I can decide that for myself,” he said, turning his attention to Jack. “I’m fine. Just tell me, did it happen again?”

Jack frowned. Behind him, the sun burned golden morning through the trees. “Yes… And no. Freak dug up a grave and mutilated a corpse. Propped ‘em right up against their own headstone.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

“Will!” Jack boomed, a sound that rattled something loose in Will’s chest. “Dr. Lecter is right. There’s nothing you can do. We have nothing. I don’t want to break you further by putting you back out there and—”

“I’m not broken,” Will growled, gripping the doorframe to steady himself. “I… I’ve just not been getting enough sleep. Cup of coffee and I’ll be fine.”

“Will.” Hannibal placed a steadying hand on Will’s back. “There are more important things for you to focus on now.”

“Unless you plan on locking me in this room or… tying me to the bed, you can’t stop me from doing my job.”

Hannibal backed away and Will stepped back into the room. He frowned at his broken glasses on the table before putting on his coat. Outside, Jack and Hannibal stood like twin shadows beneath the fading glow of the floodlight.

—

“Stephen Thomas,” Beverly said. “Died a few months back in a car crash. Quick google search tells me he went to high school with both the victims.”

Hannibal had pushed a thermos of fresh coffee into Will’s hands before stepping quietly to the sidelines. Will sipped and wondered if Hannibal were actually magic. Stephen Thomas—what was left of him—stiffly leaned to one side against his headstone. From the center of his chest a bouquet of flowers sprung. 

 

“Yarrow and yellow roses,” Hannibal said, appearing at Will’s back.

“What does it mean?”

“The yarrow is for love eternal. Roses of this color are for friends, but also offer hope of new beginnings.”

The thought of starting anew sent ache coiling beneath Will’s bones. He closed his eyes, recalling his dream, and took one calculated step back from the grave. “This is the last one,” he said. “If you haven’t found anything yet, you will. Keep looking.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, frowning over at the open grave, a gaping wound cut into the earth.

“As sure as I can be. So now I guess you were right. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“Yeah well, maybe I was wrong about that. No offense to Dr. Lecter, but you seem like you’re doing alright out here. Just give me one more day.”

“Fine,” Will said. “One more day.”

—

“I feel like she’s inside of me,” Will said.

Hannibal had made a stop on the way back to their room to buy an electric burner and a skillet. He stood by the window, scrambling eggs. “Experiencing the world through her eyes must have been quite traumatic. Though it’s an abnormal situation, your feelings are certainly natural.”

“It’s not just that. I… I feel like she’s actually inside me. It’s not like it was before.”

“From haunted to possessed?”

“I don’t know that I would call it possessed. Infected, maybe.”

“An infection would be more my area of expertise,” Hannibal said, plating their breakfast. “And I am ordering plenty of good food and rest.”

Will wasn’t particularly hungry, but he ate for Hannibal’s sake. They had eggs and sausage and fresh fruit on paper plates, and when they were through, Will was ready for bed again. 

“Will you, uh…” Will watched Hannibal from his spot on the bed. “Will you lie with me?”

Hannibal drew the curtains. “Of course,” he said, taking his jacket off.

“What was it like being her?” Hannibal asked after lying down, turning his head toward Will on the pillow.

“Like swallowing the dark.”

Their bodies curved in toward each other. Hannibal reached out and rested a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Though the thought may scare you, I believe the best course now is to try and contact her again, wherever she may be.”

“I know,” Will breathed, brows knitting together. “I know, but right now can we just…”

Will moved his body across the bed until he was nestled right against Hannibal’s chest. He buried his face in the hollow of Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal stiffened for a moment, then settled and stilled, wrapping his arms around Will and pulling him close.

“There is no need for you to suffer,” Hannibal mumbled into Will’s hair. “In time, you may learn to use this ability for good.”

“Being haunted isn’t an ability. I’m not a psychic. I’m not a medium. I just a guy who needs some rest.”

Hannibal’s fingers pressed into Will’s back, and Will could feel himself shrinking, melting into Hannibal’s chest. Their hearts beat in tandem. 

“I broke my glasses,” Will said, half drifting into sleep.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Hannibal whispered. 

Will smiled, a lazy tug of the lips against Hannibal’s neck. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

Will didn’t sleep, but he drifted, caught in the space between ghosts and the grounding, solid presence of Hannibal. Cassie Boyle lay paralyzed beneath his skin, aching to be set free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long wait between this chapter and the last. Those of you who follow me on tumblr are probably aware that this month has been a rough one for my family, and it's taken a major toll on my writing mojo. I'm trying my best to get back into the swing of things, and I'm hoping to have chapter six up very soon. <3


	6. vespers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you kiss me?”
> 
> “That would be unethical and unwise.”
> 
> “I know. But I still want you to.” Will opened his eyes and watched Hannibal watching him.

By mid-afternoon, Will had grown restless and hungry. Hannibal ventured into town for lunch—or rather, ingredients for lunch—and when he returned to their room a light snow had begun to fall. The pavement was too warm for it to stick, but it clung to Hannibal’s hair and shimmered like pointed stars in the lamplight.

“You’re not seriously going to make soup in a motel room,” Will said, wrapped in a blanket and shivering as he paced the room.

Hannibal half-smiled as he spread his bounty across the table. “I am.”

And he did, chopping everything there by the window with knives certain to be left behind when they were gone. Hannibal had even bought real bowls and spoons and cloth napkins while he was out. It felt ridiculous and unnecessary and exactly what Will had come to expect from Hannibal. 

They ate vegetable soup in the early evening as the wind outside rattled the windows. It howled in a way that left Will feeling increasingly cold, even as the soup warmed him to the bone.

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked when they were finished. 

Their day had been mostly quiet, filled with half-sleep where Hannibal held Will close. They didn’t talk about the ease with which they were falling into intimacy. But deep within, Will ached with gnawing, unspeakable hunger.

“I’m mostly just waiting for the inevitable,” Will said, watching Hannibal clear their dishes into the tiny bathroom sink.

“And what do you feel is inevitable?”

“Maybe Cassie Boyle isn’t too weak to show me the entire picture. Maybe I just don’t want to see it.”

Before Hannibal could open his mouth to speak, Jack’s thunderous knock came at the door. He stood beneath the awning, fluffy flakes of white skidding across the pavement behind him. 

“Whatever you expect us to find, it’s not there. We have nothing. Parents were no help at all.”

“Then start interviewing classmates.”

“I’ve decided to leave that up to the locals. Since you’re so convinced this one is already finished, I see no reason for us to be here any longer.”

Jack plodded away, frowning. Will slumped back into the room, resigned to his defeat.

“I guess that’s it, then,” Will sighed, sinking down onto the sagging edge of the mattress.

“You’ve done all that you can for now.”

“I’ve done nothing. My being here has been nothing but an inconvenience. Maybe I am broken.”

Hannibal knelt between Will’s knees and cradled his face. “I don’t believe you to be broken, but I do believe what you’re experiencing may be clouding all else around you. It may not be wise for us to wait this out.”

“I’m trying…”

“I know. I have some things I’d like to try when we return home, if you’ll allow it.”

Will sighed and closed his eyes. “Alright,” he said. Hannibal made no move to pull his hand away. Will teetered on the edge of vulnerability that made him feel open and bold. “Will you kiss me?”

“That would be unethical and unwise.”

“I know. But I still want you to.” Will opened his eyes and watched Hannibal watching him. His gaze flicking from Will’s eyes and back to his lips. “Do you want to?”

Hannibal thumbed at Will’s lip, the slightest touch, fleeting before it even began. “I do,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

—

They flew home after dark, the sodden winter air battering the plane in rocking waves. In spite of the turbulence, Will dozed. His eyes opened upon a dream, gazing out the window. The feathered stag clopped upon the wing, lit silver by the moon, feathers still even as it rocketed through the air.

_This is all your fault, you know._

_I’m sorry. I know._

_Regret means nothing to the dead._

The stag's eyes glowed white as marble, a reflection of the moon, now glowing bright as the sun. They hurdled toward it in their flying machine, their metal-sided tomb. Will’s eyes stayed locked on the feathered beast, her vocal thoughts now nothing more than static. The moon warmed his skin, then burned.

In the blink of an eye he jerked awake. Hannibal looked on beside him, eyes wide with reflection.

—

“You can go home now. I’ve already taken up too much of your time,” Will said to Hannibal as they walked through the door in Wolf Trap.

“I want to be here,” Hannibal said. “I want to be here with you.” 

Will thought of making coffee but uncorked a bottle of wine instead. They drank it in the kitchen while they waited for Alana to stop by with the dogs.

“So what are the things you’d like to try?” Will asked, downing his glass quicker than was wise.

Hannibal sipped his wine slow. “I’d like us to have a seance. A proper one.”

Will snorted out a laugh. “Are we going to light candles and hold hands around the table and let the dead come to us?”

Hannibal’s expression remained flat and serious. “Yes.”

Will finished his glass and poured another. “Not tonight.”

“Of course not. I’ll make preparations tomorrow.”

Will’s head began to buzz with fear and anticipation and wine. He walked to where Hannibal stood at the counter. “I’m still thinking about kissing you, just so you know.”

“Do you truly want to kiss me, or are you simply grasping for something to hold onto? A distraction from the horror of the world and your own mind?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

They stared and stared. Hannibal’s lips were stained a deep merlot. Will thought very seriously of licking it away, but before he could act the creak of the front door opening, and the patter of 7 sets of paws, pulled his thoughts away.

Will and Hannibal met the dogs and Alana in the living room. They sniffed at Hannibal’s hands but refused Will’s greetings. Alana eyed the display curiously.

“Hope they didn’t give you any trouble,” Will said, taking her offered bundle of leashes.

“They’re good dogs. You don’t look so good.”

“Will’s feeling a bit under the weather,” Hannibal cut in, pulling Alana’s prying eyes away.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, slowly backing toward the door. She perhaps didn’t even realize she was moving, her brain working on the animal instinct that something in the room was wrong. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will. Thank you, Alana,” Will said.

She nodded her goodbye and disappeared quickly into the night. 

Will watched the dogs settle down on the floor, eyes trained away from him. “I should have just asked her to keep them until this is over.”

“They’re not afraid of you, but the fear you are emitting. That which waits beneath the skin.”

Will pressed himself against Hannibal’s chest and Hannibal folded him into his arms. “I want to go finish my wine.”

Hannibal inhaled deeply at Will’s scalp. “Then let us finish it.”

They downed the rest of the bottle, the bulk of it sloshing in Will’s belly and pushing him closer and closer to crawling into Hannibal’s lap and devouring his mouth. They sat at the kitchen table, desire sizzling between them.

“I think I’d want to kiss you even if I didn’t feel like I was losing my mind,” Will confessed.

Hannibal had unbuttoned his shirt at the throat and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. His cheeks burned pink with temptation. “Even so, I am your psychiatrist, and it would be unethical for me to allow it.”

Will reached for Hannibal across the table, covered the back of his hand with the flat of his palm. The lights above the counter flickered and buzzed. Will’s muscles weakly tensed and his brain fogged over. 

Will pulled his hand quickly away. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, rising from the table.

—

Will leaned against the tile and let the hot shower spray roll down his back. He closed his eyes and tasted ashes on his tongue, faintly smelling cigarette smoke. He pushed it away, focusing instead on the water beading on his skin, the feel of his own hand gliding along his abdomen and down, down…

He was hard before his hand made contact with his cock, and it ached sweetly when he squeezed it in a tight fist. He could almost taste Hannibal’s wine stained lips beneath his tongue. His thoughts came in waves and flashes. Hannibal’s hand replacing his own. Hannibal’s mouth moving from his lips, lower and lower, down between his thighs, working his hardness between soft lips, spreading him open…

The light behind his eyes flashed red with blood. Sharp teeth dripping crimson, black feathers, reflective moon-white eyes. Flesh pierced through with bony antlers. Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his throat, sucking kisses at the line of his pulse, tasting him. Ravens calling. Hannibal moaning beneath him, laughing darkly. Red and black, blood and night. Blinding flashes of brilliant sun.

Will’s hand glided over his cock at a fevered pace. Life and death drew him in equal measure toward the edge. He came to the sound of Cassie Boyle screaming inside his mind. Begging, pleading for her pain to be over. No sound had ever tasted as sweet, ringing in his ears and rattling his teeth. He painted the tile in hot spurts of his release and at once slumped down to the shower floor, weak-kneed and flooded with shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am beginning to wonder how many times I can possibly end a chapter with apologies for the long stretch in between updates, yet here we are again... and I am very sorry. But I very much hope you are all still enjoying this journey in spite of the wait, and if you'd like to come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com) between now and chapter 7—or any time really—that would be just lovely. <3


	7. parable of mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An hour passed and Will finally slept. Hannibal pretended to sleep and when Will began to thrash he clicked on the bedside light and watched as Will kicked the blankets off onto the floor.

Will stayed in the shower for a long time. Hannibal made up the bed in the living room and sat on the edge, watching the dogs curl up tail-to-nose. When Will emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, Hannibal smiled.

“Feeling better?”

“Not really.”

The scent of Will’s pleasure and shame were undeniable. Hannibal excused himself to the bathroom and dressed for bed, a soft t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Will’s scent was so strong in the confines of the little bathroom that Hannibal’s toes curled against the cold tile floor.

—

Will and Hannibal lay next to each other in the dark of the room. Wind rattled the windows and the dogs whined. Will wondered if they would ever want to be near him again.

“She’s here with us now, isn’t she?” Hannibal said.

“She’s wherever I am now.”

“Do you think, perhaps, others have come through with her? Or that perhaps they could?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But who knows, maybe everyone I piss off in life is going to come find me after death.” 

Will laughed, and the taste of it soured in an instant on his tongue.

—

An hour passed and Will finally slept. Hannibal pretended to sleep and when Will began to thrash he clicked on the bedside light and watched as Will kicked the blankets off onto the floor. Will gripped the sheets, panting, cock hard through the line of his boxers.

He was a sight to behold, sweat glistening on his brow and soaking through his shirt. Hannibal’s mouth watered at the scent of him. He wanted so badly to never look away, to burn the images and sights and sounds in his memory for eternity. Carve them out a little room with no lock which Hannibal would visit often and forever.

It pained him to reach out a hand and place it on Will’s sternum, shaking him awake as gently as he could manage, but the urge to do so was overwhelming. The need to pull Will from the depths overriding his desire for indulgence. Will startled awake as his heart hammered in the palm of Hannibal’s hand.

“It’s alright. I’m here. You were having a nightmare,” Hannibal murmured, not moving his hand.

Will huffed out shapeless words and continued his panting. Looking down at his own arousal, and Hannibal’s hand planted firmly on his chest, Will flushed brightly in the dim light of the lamp.

“I dreamed that I was him. The killer.”

“Cassie Boyle’s killer?”

“No. The killer in West Virginia. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Either way, I can’t see a face. I have no idea who I should be trying to find. For Cassie or anyone else.”

Hannibal’s hand pressed down into Will’s bones and his flesh, moving lower toward his arousal. “Tomorrow we will try something far more powerful than a talking board.”

Will shivered and shuddered, closing his eyes and biting his lip as Hannibal’s hand trailed down. He rucked up the bottom of Will’s shirt and placed his palm flat against a hot strip of flesh, just above the waistband of his boxers.

“You said you wouldn’t kiss me,” Will whispered.

“I am not kissing you.”

“Okay.”

Will grew so aroused that he began to leak through his boxer shorts. Hannibal trailed two fingers gently down over the thick curve of it. Will keened and Hannibal swallowed down the sound, holding the feel of it low in his belly. Mercy was the answer, Hannibal knew. Mercy for the both of them, if only for a night. For a moment.

Hannibal pushed his hand down into Will’s boxers and took his cock in hand. He stroked Will roughly within the restrictive confines of the shorts, storing every sound and puff of air deep in the recesses of his mind. He buried his face in the crook of Will’s neck and when Will came, Hannibal could practically taste the splash of it on his tongue.

“Jesus,” Will huffed out. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal moaned, pulled his hand from Will’s softening cock, and began to rut his own hardness against Will’s hip. “Will...”

“Let me.” Will said, nudging Hannibal away and pressing him down into the mattress. “Please.”

Hannibal could only nod, and as Will pulled Hannibal’s pants down around his thighs and took his cock into his mouth, Hannibal sucked the taste of Will’s come from his own fingers. Hannibal came almost instantly, his release filling Will’s mouth and cascading over his tongue, and for his part, Will swallowed every drop.

The two of them lay there after, straight lines heaving on the mattress, sweat-soaked and loose-limbed and smiling until sleep claimed them.

—

They didn’t talk about their encounter in the night the next morning. Instead, Hannibal took the dogs out into the yard while Will made eggs and ignored the rattling rack of pans above the stove. 

“So what is this powerful thing we’re trying today?” Will asked in between bites. He made a point to keep his eyes trained firmly on the food on his plate. Anywhere but Hannibal’s eyes or hands.

“It’s a ritual I tried several times as a young man to no avail. I’ll need to gather supplies, and we’ll have to wait until after dark.”

“And what happens if this time it works?”

“The veil between the living and the dead will crack open, though for how long I can’t be sure. Perhaps only a minute or two, from what I was told by my teacher.”

Will laughed. “Your teacher taught you how to raise the dead?”

“She was a very special teacher. And we won’t be raising the dead. Merely fine tuning the signal between two worlds.”

“Will I be able to ask Cassie who killed her? Like really ask? No flickering lights and metaphors.”

“I’m not sure how communication will work,” Hannibal said, drawing Will’s gaze finally up from his plate. “I only know that we must try.”

—

Hannibal left in the late morning for supplies, and Will crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up over his head. The dogs traipsed around the house and curled up far away from him, or gazed out windows at the outside world where they would be free from the terrifying buzzing of their owner. Will wondered if they could see her.

Around noon, as Will dozed between waking and dreams, the phone rang. Buster began to yap and Max howled.

“Hello?” Will groggily pressed the receiver to his ear.

“Is this Will Graham?” A voice he did not recognize came through on the other end.

The hair on Will’s nape stood on end. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Will Graham is the only one who will understand me. I need to talk to Will Graham.”

Will stayed silent, listening to the sound of static and the stranger breathing on the other end. 

“Do you know who I am, Mr. Graham? I saw you at the cemetery. You looked so wounded. I know that feeling well.”

Will swallowed hard, and parted his lips to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild update appears! I have no excuse for why this one took me three whole months, but writing has been a very specific agony for me lately and I'm trying my very best. May chapter eight reveal itself in far less time than chapter seven did. In the meantime, come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
